Second Place
by Willow1593
Summary: A slightly angstly Janto one-shot. Spoilers for "Something Borrowed". Ianto will never be good enough.


I do not own Torchwood or anything relating to it. Slight spoilers for "Something Borrowed". If Cardiff Primary School actually exists, I didn't know about it, and do not mean the real place. I have no idea about its sports days.

Second Place

Like just about every other primary school in the United Kingdom, Cardiff Primary School had a school sports day, once a year. It was held on the Friday before the May-day bank holiday, come rain or shine. In fact, one particular set of alumni had fond memories of running in shorts through three inches of snow.

Many different activities were devised in order to entertain both participants and parents on this, the pinnacle of the school year. There was beanbag throwing, jumping through hula-hoops, an egg and spoon race, relays, and even what appeared to be a miniature assault course. (No one knew where that one came from, it appeared mysteriously at the beginning of the day and vanished just as mysteriously at the end – the popular myth among was that the Headmaster, Mr. Brown, was actually a secret member of MI6, using the course to pick out potential future spies.) But the most glorified and honoured among these many activities was The Race.

It was deceptively simple. One lap around the school field, across the finishing line painted in creosote. Each and every pupil in the school lined up, and then, on the whistle from Mr. Brown, ran at full pelt. Even those who ordinarily wangled their way out of any physical exertion took part.

In the spirit of the co-operation which Cardiff Primary School tried to foster in all its pupils, there were no prizes for The Race. But Ianto Jones knew, even at the age of ten, that he had to win.

Because his Mam was coming to watch. Usually, she was busy working, and couldn't get the time off from the Sainsbury's where she worked a twelve hour shift to make ends meet. But on this particular Sports Day, because it was his last one, she had made a special effort, got a friend to cover for her, and was going to come. To his sports day! Ianto had never been so happy in his life when she told him.

So Ianto Jones decided that to lose would be unthinkable. He began to practice daily, running around his small bedroom hundreds of times until the neighbours began to bang on the walls for him to stop.

And then the day of The Race came. He jogged the relay, conserving his energy. He threw the beanbags neatly into the hoops, perfect aim as usual, but uncaring.

At two fifty-five, Ianto Jones took his place on the starting line along with the other one hundred and fifty six pupils of Cardiff Primary. And then, at three pm precisely, the whistle was blown, and they were off.

Ianto Jones ran, heart pumping madly, breathing heavily, feeling every single muscle in his body pumping at is hardest, trying to get to that line. He passed the first corner, conscious of the people behind him and in front. He pulled ahead halfway through the second side of the field. He was running, running, running....

The final stretch. He was just metres from the end, and way ahead of everyone else, he could see his mam cheering.....

But then, to his left, he suddenly appeared a figure, from out of the blue. It was Tom, a boy from his class, a friend. He was tall, running with long legs, and longer strides, running effortlessly and crossing the line just seconds before Ianto.

The latter ran straight to his mam, who enveloped him in a hug, holding him close. "I'm so proud of you!"

But even as Ianto Jones was cheered by his mates, hugged by his mother, he stared into the middle distance.

Second place.

He had failed.

It was then that Ianto Jones swore that he would never be second place again.

Ianto was standing, pretending to listen to one of Rhys' relatives talk slightly tipsily about how much she loved weddings. But it was the conversation going on between the two people dancing behind him which he was really interested in.

"What'll you do when I'm gone?"

"Oh, the usual. Pizza. Ianto."

He laughed, and Ianto felt a knife stab into his heart.

"Will you miss me?"

"Always."

The knife twisted, deeper and deeper, and Ianto felt the sudden urge to burst into tears. But he didn't, because that wasn't what boys did.

Instead, he cut in to the dance. He saw the expression on Jack's face as he did so, and felt a twinge of remorse for taking the dance away from them. He felt it more in the way that Jack held Ianto, not close as he had Gwen, but carefully, like china.

Ianto looked briefly upwards, into his... Jack's... eyes. There was no smile left there, as there had been for her. There was only that quiet desire, the love. But it was not aimed at him. It never really would be. Owen was right, he was just the convenient shag. He would be dropped faster than a hot rock, if Gwen had made up her mind that she wanted the other man who loved her.

He was transported suddenly back, to that day so long ago, when he had almost won The Race.

But no, now, as then, he was not good enough. Never would be. Would always come second, however much he knew, however hard he tried.

Second place.


End file.
